Die Harfe
Language: German (Deutsch)
Available translation(s): ENG
Meine Mutter schlug die Harfe
Wohl in mancher Nacht.
Golden haben da die Saiten
Unter ihrer Hand gelacht.
Aber eine feine rief
Einmal auf. Das klang wie Schmerz.
Und da griff sie sich ans Herz,
Unter dem es traumvoll schlief.
Mutters Harfe stand schon lange
Unberührt. Nur manche Nacht
Trat mein Vater stummversunken
Vor sie hin, wenn er gewacht.
Aber einstens schien der Vollmond
Durch den kahlen Ast herein.
Und da konnt er sich nicht halten,
Griff hinein:
Wieder klang's in süßem Beben
Und in unfaßbarer Not.
Und nach einem Monde heben
Seine Hände mich ins Leben,
Und die Mutter, die lag tot.
Seit jenem Winter griffen meine Hände
Oft aus der Wiege nach der Mutterhand
Und griffen leere Luft und kalte Wände,
Bis ich, noch Knabe, ihre Harfe fand!
Confirmed with Emanuel von Bodman, Die gesamten Werke, im Auftrag von Clara von Bodman herausgegeben von Karl Preisendanz, Band 1 Der Wandrer und der Weg. Lyrik der Frühzeit, Stuttgart: Reclam Verlag, 1960, pages 370-371.
Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "The harp", copyright © 2019, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Sharon Krebs
[Guest Editor] This text was added to the website: 2019-05-10
Line count: 25
Word count: 130
The harp
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch)
My mother strummed the harp
In many a night.
Golden, the strings laughed
Under her hand.
But a fine string once
Cried out. That sounded like pain.
And at that she grasped at her heart,
Under which [I, her baby] slept full of dreams.
For a long while already, Mother's harp
Stood untouched. Only some nights
My father, mute and introspective,
Stepped up to it when he couldn't sleep.
But once the full moon shone in
Through bare branches.
And then he couldn't help himself,
He touched the strings:
Again it sounded in sweet trembling
And in unimaginable misery.
And after a month his hands
Lift[ed] me into life,
And my mother, she lay dead.
Since that winter my hands often reached
Out of the cradle for my mother's hand
And grasped empty air and cold walls,
Until I, still a boy, found her harp!
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2019 by Sharon Krebs, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2019-10-24
Line count: 25
Word count: 145